Task Force Whiskey Hotel
by Echo Frosts
Summary: AU. A new Prime Minister of England enters office several months or so before the fall of the Ministry of Magic. After the strange introductory visit from the Minister of Magic, he works with a U.S. general to do what millions of teenage boys secretly thought of as they read the Harry Potter series: introduce the wizarding world to U.S. firepower. A silly series about guns v. magic
1. A Strange Conversation

"You think I'm insane. Don't you." Prime Minister Williams sighed, resting his head in his palms. Frankly, he looked stressed. Overworked. And the recent..._discovery_ was not doing much for his health. It was more of a statement than a question. "_I_ wouldn't believe this story if someone told it to me! No surprise that you don't believe it."

Across from him sat Lieutenant General John Winters of the United States Army, calmly pouring them each a glass of McAllen whiskey. In full uniform, with tall stature and serious demeanor, he looked quite intimidating; but with his lifelong friend, there was an unusual smile haunting his face, giving him a pleasant and friendly look.

"Fred…"

"How in bloody-" the Prime Minister cursed, absentmindedly checking his cell phone as it beeped at him. "Now my cabinet's wondering where I am, my best friend thinks I'm crazy-"

"Fred-"

"-and I've seen wizards." Frederick Williams, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, looked at the Lieutenant General with exhausted, over-stressed eyes. "Bloody wizards."

"And witches, too, presumably." John smirked at him. "Cute ones?"

"Don't make fun of me, John!" His face turned a shade redder.

John laughed and held out one of the McAllen shots; Fred took it and downed it, all in one go. John took a sip from his glass before answering.

"Fred, look." He said, leaning forward. "I admit; of all the things I expected you to talk about when you called last evening, saying we had to talk…" He looked up at Fred with a slight smile. "This certainly wasn't it. But-" he said hurriedly, seeing Fred open his mouth, "I know you're a solid guy, and I'm willing to believe you."

"Willing?"

"Well, _if_, as you say, there is a war between wizards going on…" John cleared his throat. "Perhaps we ought to step in."

The Prime Minister's eyes bugged out and his mouth gaped open. "WHAT?"

John narrowed his eyes. "Don't be an imbecile, Fred. And for heaven's sake, _keep your voice down_!"

Fred lowered his voice an octave, but kept rambling. "Go to war with wizards? What do you think we can do, huh? They have magic. All we have is-"

"Guns, Fred. Guns. Missiles. Explosives. Tanks. Bombs!" He waved his arms in the air. "If wizards are in a war, then think: there are different factions. One who has ruled for a while and presumably kept themselves separate from us…and a new faction. One that might not like that idea." General Winters lowered his voice. "One that might, in fact, decide that people without magic _are easier to rule_." He leaned back and smirked. "Not to mention that, if we do intervene, we'll probably prevent secondary damage."

The Prime Minister sighed. "Like exploding bridges?"

"Like exploding bridges."

For a minute, that sat in silence. Prime Minister Williams poured himself another shot of McAllen. "So…we just…give them guns?"

"Oh, Lord, no. We won't give them any of our weapons, or teach them how to use them. If we're in any luck, we will have plenty of weapons they've never seen before." He winked. "With the element of surprise, my dear British friend, it won't matter what counter-spells they have."

"Because they won't know what's coming _until they're already dead_!" The Prime Minister said, laughing. John joined him and clinked his glass with his.

"But seriously." Fred's face turned serious again. "What would we do? Pick a random battalion and send them off on a 'special assignment'? How on earth are we going to get them to stay silent about the fact that they're _hunting wizards and witches_? Literally!"

"That's _precisely_ what we do. " General Winters grinned. "Think about it, Fred. Assume there really _is_ a whole nation of magical wizards running around-"

"I don't need to bloody _assume_ anything, since they just 'showed up' on my bloody doorstep last evening..." Prime Minister Williams mumbled.

"-then we really need to ensure that we are _prepared_ for them." John stated emphatically. "With magic _and the element of total surprise_, we would have _no chance_ at surviving _any _attack. But if we have at least one response team that does know..."

John left the thought unfinished. They continued sipping their whiskey.

"Do you have a team in mind?" The Prime Minister asked, silently acquiescing to the General's point.

He graciously nodded his thanks and said, with a smile breaking over his face: "Absolutely. I know just the men..."

* * *

**So I hope y'all enjoy this beginning chapter! This is a story idea that I think most teenage boys had when they first read Harry Potter; and I think it time to make it a reality! Feedback is loved and I look forward to writing more of this! (Future chapters will be longer, as this is just an introduction.)**


	2. The Pub on Wellingston Drive

Lieutenant Bobby Markins winked at the tall blonde across the bar. She giggled and whispered to her friend, a slightly shorter brunette, who laughed and nudged her, winking at Bobby. He shot back a cocky grin.

"We're supposed to blend in, hotshot." Bobby's partner, Rusty Jones, knocked his drink over "on accident." It was too flirty, anyway. One of those tall drinks with the little umbrella in it. Bobby, in return, 'accidently' kicked Rusty's shin, who laughed. "Got boots there, son. I ain't gonna feel nothin'." He said, with a deep country drawl. Rusty hailed from the holy land of Texas, where the tea is sweet and the women sweeter (as he often reminded poor Bobby, who would retort: "where egos are big and skulls thicker").

"Oh, and _i'm_ the one not fitting in." Bobby snorted. "That accent screams American."

"And flirting with all the girls doesn't? 'Specially with that pansy drink."

Bobby and Rusty were undercover for this mission; Bobby wore a polo with slacks while Rusty wore a button-down casual shirt with jeans and boots. He skipped on wearing his Stetson; it would attract far too much attention, especially for this mission.

They may bicker a ton, but they're actually great friends - which is why they were chosen to befriend a wizard. As Sun Tzu wisely wrote: know thy enemy and you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. There was only one problem.

How do you find a wizard?

Since Prime Minister Williams and General Winters formed the U.S. and U.K. Joint Task Force Whiskey Hotel ("coincidentally" bearing the same initials as Witch Hunters), they began to attempt to identify wizards through one of the Task Force's advantages: technology. Specifically, tracking technology.

When the Minister of Magic appeared in Prime Minister Williams' office, he was wearing a robe that he would attribute to Merlin or some fantasy wizard. _Well, if that's how they dress when they go to work…they've probably been seen around London somewhere_. And, if they've been around London downtown, there's no doubt that a camera's spotted one.

With the help of intelligence analysts, the Task Force identified several individuals who frequent downtown areas and, though they usually wear regular clothing, there's been enough strange occurrences and wizard-like clothing that they've been tagged as suspects.

So Bobby and Rusty went to try and meet their first suspect, fully armed with listening devices and dashing good looks: a simple man named Arthur Weasley. He tended to visit this particular pub every so often. The bartend described him as "strange; looked like he was high or somethin'. Kept staring at the TV with a dazed expression. He also enjoyed watching people text; wanted to look at their phones and such. Real weird chap."

So Bobby and Rusty waited. They occasionally texted each other, even though they were side by side, just in case he was already there; though the bartend hadn't alerted them yet.

Lucky for them, that was about to change.

The bartend worked his way over to them and nudged them, half-nodding towards the door. A middle-aged gentleman, indistinguishable from the other patrons with the exception of his reddish hair, made his way to the bar. He sat, exhaling deeply – the look of a tired man after an exhausting work day.

Bobby winked and slid a few seats over, next to (presumably) Mr. Weasley. He decided to go a direct route.

The most direct route, really.

"So." He nudged the red-headed stranger, who turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "Let me buy you a drink. Gotta support the guys in the war effort-"

Rusty sighed and face-palmed. It was a random guess that the wizard would be involved in the Ministry's war efforts; Bobby figured that there couldn't be _that_ many of them who _weren't_ involved. His guess paid off.

The stranger's eyes bugged out. "Don't mention that! Not here!" He whispered frantically, eyes darting towards the barkeep and Rusty.

"Alright! No problem." He smirked. Got him. The only war around here is the wizarding kind...

"This here's my brother, Rusty." He motioned towards Rusty, who was still scowling after Bobby's rash introduction.

"He's adopted." Rusty corrected him with steel in his voice.

The stranger nodded, his eyes growing tired again. "Name's Arthur Weasley." He murmured. The novelty of meeting a 'fellow wizard' wore off quick, even if it was in a Muggle bar.

"Bartend! A shot of…" He glanced at Arthur.

"Jameson on the rocks."

"On the way." The bartend said, sidling across the bar.

"Well! I'm Bobby. We're tourists from America, and, well, we'd appreciate it if you could give us the low-down on the, uh…" He winked at Arthur. "…recent events that have been going on."

Arthur yawned from sheer exhaustion and nodded at them. "Right. Sure. But, right now, I need to relax a little, honestly."

Rusty cocked his head. "I don't reckon. How d'you relax in here? Not our kind of joint, ya know."

"Well…" Arthur said, as the bartend slipped him his drink. "I enjoy…learning. You know." He imperceptibly nodded towards the television and a cell phone. "About things that we're not used to in our culture."

"Funny you should say that..." Bobby said, flipping out a cell phone. Arthur gaped at him.

"You have one!? But how? Why? What is it?"

Bobby laughed. "It's called a phone."

Rusty interjected. "We live in real rural country, where there ain't much of a community for our kind. So we've been livin' with the regular folk. Picked up what they do. In fact," he scratched his chin, "we don't know much about _our_ kind of culture. So if ya got a little bit o' time and don't mind helpin' us out…"

Arthur had become slowly more animated through this conversation; the idea that a wizard knew about technology fascinated and excited him. How better to learn about technology from a wizard's perspective than from a wizard who knows about it? "Absolutely! Certainly! Yes!"

"Calm down there, son." Rusty said with a smile, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. "We've got time, don't we? Let's enjoy a drink and head somewhere more private."

"Sure, sure. In the meantime…" Arthur leaned over, looking at Bobby's cell phone. Rusty internally sighed. This will be a _long_ conversation…

* * *

U.S.S. _Ronald Reagan_

Operational Headquarters of Joint Task Force Whiskey Hotel

Major Leonard Kernan, operational head of the intelligence analysts, stiffly marched down the main aisle of the bridge, as junior officers snapped to attention. Ahead of him stood General Winters, commander of the Task Force, along with Colonel Murchand from the British equivalent of Homeland Security. They stood over a long table, with notes and maps spread across it. Currently, Colonel Murchand was circling a region of London, talking to the General.

Major Kernan walked uncomfortably close to the General and snapped to attention, swiftly saluting. Winters eyed him and returned the salute, backing up an inch. "Report?"

"General, one of our teams has made contact with a wizard. Their cover identities are holding; we'll likely have a lot of information on the…uh…wizard nation." He furrowed his brow. "Do we have a better term for that?"

General Winters shrugged. "I have no idea what a group of wizards is called. A gaggle of wizards? A flock?"

"Or a murder of wizards." Winters and Kernan raised eyebrows at him. His face flushed red. "That's what they call a group of crows! A murder of crows."

"Oh, _suuuuure_. If I were thinking about what to call a group, 'murder' is the first word that comes to my mind!" Winters smirked. He enjoyed being snarky. "A murder of cabbages, a murder of trees…"

"A murder of Brits." Major Kernan interjected. He and the General burst out laughing.

"Bloody Yanks." Colonel Murchand muttered.

"Anyway: Major, the good Colonel's team has been perusing satellite images of the deep countryside and mountain regions of England for anything unusual. They found this." General Winters slid a document over to the Major. There was a forest near the base of a mountain; near the edge of the forest, they could see several figures in dark, black cloaks.

"In addition, several drone flights sent from this carrier caught strange images in the sky." Another photo was handed to Major Kernan; this one portrayed a strange, green image of a snake coiling about a skull.

"Well, I can't imagine that being the sign for anything good."

"Your input is exemplary, as always, Major." Winters said, his tone reeking of sarcasm. He turned back to the map of England and pointed to a little green flag stuck near a mountain range. "This is the location where the figures were spotted. Send out a response team."

"Yes sir." Kernan saluted, snapping to attention. The General reciprocated. As the Major marched out of the bridge, he wondered to himself whether this whole thing was real. He had assumed they were merely a terrorist group, trying to appear magical; but the more strange things they encountered, the more he began to wonder. If there is an entire community of wizards thriving under our noses without fear of discovery…what kind of power must they have? How can non-magical folk fight something that could…go invisible, for example; or teleport; or cast some crazy mind-control spell?

He shook his head. _Guess we're about to find out._

* * *

Breathe in. Breathe out. Steady the scope. Repeat.

Sergeant Walters calmed his breathing, practicing techniques to slow his heart rate. It was much more difficult than usual, considering what he was watching through his rifle scope.

Three men in black robes were surrounding a young woman, laughing, as she floated up and down. They waved what appeared to be small, pointed sticks around in circles; she, in turn, flew about round and round – dizzying even to the Sergeant, who watched from a nearby cliff. His spotter, Sergeant Dorn, had his hand to his ear, listening to Major Kernan, who was directing the mission.

They had arrived several hours earlier with two other teams via HALO (High-Altitude Low-Opening) paradrop. Their mission, being an elite sniper team, was to bunker down and keep an eye out to see if the mysterious hooded strangers returned.

Well, they did. And they brought this poor girl as a guest.

It seemed they had enough fun swirling her around in circles, as they suddenly slammed her into the ground and began to approach her twitching body. Sergeant Walters could see her moaning, holding her right side with her hand.

Suddenly, his vision flashed green.

The girl was dead.

Walters clenched his teeth as his spotter whispered in his ear: "Fire mission is a go. One target. Six hundred ninety four meters. Two bullet spread."

"Copy." Sergeant lined up the scope on the head of the hooded man closest to their position. He was kneeling over the body, presumably looking for anything of value in her pockets. He slowly exhaled.

They knew this would have to be quick. This would be the wizarding world's first known encounter with firearms. There could be no mistakes. No failure.

"Fire…"

Walters inhaled deeply.

"Fire…"

Walters slowly exhaled, centering the scope. There was no movement.

"Fire."

Walters pulled the trigger twice.

His aim was true. The man was sifting through the girl's pant pockets when the bullets ripped through the back of his spine, piercing his lungs and paralyzing him; he fell to the ground and breathed his last.

The other two men twitched and fell to the ground. Walters nodded; the two other teams had done their job.

Mission accomplished.

Walters got the feeling that things were going to get a lot more complicated.

* * *

**Just so you know, updates won't be coming ****_this_**** regularly; I just wanted to get something out quick - with a hint of action - to whet some appetites and sort through some of the more rough introduction material. Hope y'all enjoy! There will be more action in the future, of course.**


	3. The Mystery of the Flying Corpses

"What do you mean, the bloody corpses _flew away_?"

Colonel Murchand was irate. The helicopter crew sent to retrieve the bodies of the first three wizards killed by U.S. forces–Death Eaters, as Mr. Weasley informed their spies earlier that day–sat in front of him, attempting to explain what had happened halfway through retrieval.

"Yes, sir. We had zipped them in black bags and were moving them onto the helicopter…"

"When they stood up and flew off like Superman?!" The Colonel ridiculed them, flinging his arms in the air.

"No, sir. The bags looked like they were being dragged away. Through the air." The lieutenant gulped. "Still looked dead, sir."

"Ugh." The Colonel massaged his forehead. "Bloody wizards. What a pot of-"

"General on deck!" A soldier outside the room barked, and the room snapped to attention. General Winters entered the room, followed by Major Kernan.

"At ease, men." They sat down. He turned to Colonel Murchand. "Colonel, what happened?"

"The corpses seem to have been whisked away by some sort of magic, sir."

"Did they gain any evidence?"

Colonel Murchand glanced at the pilot, who shook his head. "We retrieved the bullets from the bodies before we bagged them. Unless they recognize a bullet wound…"

General Winters nodded. "Thank you, men. Dismissed." They saluted. "Colonel, Major: join me on the bridge." His brow furrowed. "We have a situation to discuss."

* * *

A few hundred miles away, Bobby and Rusty walked with Arthur Weasley down a back road. Sparse fields flanked them on either side, with the occasional strange house dotting the landscape.

"Thanks for invitin' us for dinner, Arthur. Lookin' forward to meet'n your wife and kids." Rusty rumbled in his deep Texan accent.

"Oh, absolutely!" Arthur was giddy. They had discussed what the cellular telephone was for several hours before Arthur invited them back to his place for dinner and offered a bed for the night. On the way, he had given them a slew of useful information: on magic and the Ministry and the War. He seemed quite surprised to hear (the fabrications) that they weren't taught much of anything about magic in their childhood besides "the basics" (which was a convenient excuse to not reveal how little they knew).

In any case, Arthur wasn't concerned. They spotted him and knew he was a Ministry official ("from a previous visit," they claimed), so they had to be in-the-know to _some_ degree. In any case, they seemed trustworthy; he knew that Death Eaters would have nothing to do with men so integrated with Muggle society.

Little did Arthur know of the electronic listening devices implanted in their clothes, which quickly and readily transmitted useful data from their conversations back to the U.S.S. _Ronald Reagan_.

"Well, here we are! My humble abode!" He beamed, as they rounded the corner and spotted the tall, crooked Weasley household. "I thought it a pity we had to take the long route, since you don't know how to Apparate; but it was quite pleasant, actually." He glanced at them. "Sure you don't want me to teach you?"

"Oh, no, that won't be necessary." Bobby smiled. "We would rather not try anything new for a while. You know, we need to get our feet settled first."

This was the first sign that troubled the back of Arthur's mind. Its one thing if they didn't know about British peculiarities, but to not know how to Apparate? To be asking general questions about casting spells? Surely, they know some magic. Otherwise...

Mr. Weasley's ominous thoughts were suddenly ended, as the front door opened with a sharp bang. Mrs. Weasley ran outside with her wand, her face contorted in concern. When she recognized Arthur, she visibly relaxed and raised an eyebrow. "Arthur? Why didn't you come home on time! IwasmakingdinnerandkeptlookingattheclockwhichsaidyouwererelaxingBUTYOUWERENTHERESOIKNEWYOUWERENTRELAXINGESPECIALLYWITHTWOSTRANGELYDRESSEDMEN–"

Mrs. Weasley was displeased. To put it mildly.

"Dear, hold on-" He began with a placating smile.

She was not placated.

"Don't you 'dear' me, Arthur Weasley!" She began to stomp towards him with a dark fire burning in her eyes. Arthur frantically stuck out a hand, as if he was going to hold her anger back physically.

"These two men needed a place to stay-"

"Oh, so now we're a hotel?! What about a family, eh?"

Mr. Weasley's face sharpened. "Molly!" He reprimanded. "Do not be so rude towards our guests." He glanced at Rusty and Bobby and nodded towards the front door. Taking the hint, they made their way towards the door; Mrs. Weasley gave them a stressed smile and apologized.

"I'm sorry, dears; just a stressful week. Head on inside."

Both men nodded in gratitude and walked towards the door. The growing distance between the Weasleys and the secret agents did nothing to hide the irate Molly Weasley's comments from the Americans' ears - organic and electronic.

"Arthur, I'm not angry about the guests." She sighed, her anger calming, as she drew near to her husband. "I'm just worried." The stress showed fairly clearly on her person; she looked tired, worry lines etching her face, while a light cover of dust and dirt decorated her clothing. "I hear of all the casualties of the war in the newspaper…"

Arthur brought her into a hug. Bobby and Rusty felt awkward; this was a private moment that they were unfortunately broadcasting to the entire Task Force. She continued.

"…and I'm worried that I'll find your name there soon." Her face suddenly held a snarl - not of anger towards him, but a deeper wrath against those who threaten her beloved's life every day. "So don't come back late! YOU HEAR ME, ARTHUR WEASLEY?!"

He gripped her tight, eyes glistening. "I'm sorry, dearest. I won't let it happen again."

In that moment, Bobby and Rusty (and the myriad of analysts at the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan) realized that the Weasley family is just that: a family. One of those families that was filled with the gentle light of love which they were sworn to defend as men if the U.S. military.

The touching moment was broken when the two undercover agents heard a slight beeping in their ears: "This is Hotel Actual. Be on alert. Hostile activity in your region. Strike team code-word: sweet tea." Bobby and Rusty glanced at each other. The code word was to be used if they felt that they would need a strike team to retrieve them from a hostile (or potentially hostile) situation where they couldn't speak freely.

As the Weasleys began to walk towards the house, Arthur called out to the duo, now inside the house. "Bobby, Rusty: come meet my family. I'm sure you two will enjoy a good British supper!"

Rusty and Bobby soon found, as they suspected, that even wizards still have a love for good food.

* * *

Back in the U.S.S. _Ronald Reagan_ bridge.

"General, one of our intelligence teams found that there have been a number of strange disappearances near a neck of woods in this region." An analyst drew a light, red circle on a massive regional map, laid across one of the many tables dedicated to operations. "Our agent, Lieutenant Greene, disappeared several hours ago. We lost visual data, but we still have audio." The analyst looked spooked. "You'll want to hear this."

The General glanced at the Colonel and Major with a solemn face. They had all wondered when this would happen: one of their own being captured by the wizards and interrogated. They had hopes it wouldn't happen so soon. "Do we have a location?"

The analyst shook his head. "Its strange, sir, like this whole business. The audio signal appears to be coming from the junction between two houses. Not from either house." He shrugged. "We have a Predator drone circling the origin of the signal, in case they're hiding in some magic hole or something."

The General sighed. "Very well. Play the recording."

The analyst turned to his desktop and began playing the video. He had manually added subtitles, especially where the words were hard to make out.

The recording began with the sounds of shuffling and heavy breathing. A door slammed open and a deep voice snarled, "_Crucio_!"

The agent screamed and yelled. Those listening winced; the sound was raw, painful to hear. For the empathetic, this was a torture of its own.

Eventually, the yelling (and presumably the pain) stopped. More heavy breathing. "Who are you?" The voice spoke rashly, more of a command than a question. The Lieutenant said nothing.

"So be it. _Crucio_!"

Again, the man screamed and yelled. It was obvious to those listening that this torture spell was incanted by that phrase: _Crucio_. The process painfully repeated thrice, each time woth weaker screams and yells until it became almost a whisper, until the interrogator grew impatient. "_Imperio_!"

This was a strange occurrence; for a few moments, there was silence.

"Now," the interrogator said sweetly, "tell me everything you know."

"My name is Lieutenant Andrew Greene of the United States Army Rangers..." The man began to say, to the astonishment if all those listening.

"What? Now he talks?" The General wondered.

"What sorcery is this?! What did that curse do?" The Major pounded his fists on the table.

On the tape, the interrogator chuckled. "Can't say no, can you?" He cooed. "What a little baby. Tell me: what were you doing where all those Muggles were abducted? And what is this army you speak of?"

The officers listened in horror as the interrogation continued. Their worst fears were beginning to be realized: this magic didn't just kill or maim. It somehow caused them to betray their ideals - taking away their free will.

"This has to be stopped. This enemy agent can't be allowed to escape." The General stated before turning to the analyst. "How long ago was this recording?"

"Twenty minutes ago, sir."

"Have you had any activity from the source of the signal yet?"

"No sir." The analyst pulled up an image from the Predator drone circling the city block on one of the massive screens on the bridge for the General's viewing pleasure.

Another analyst cried out. "General! We have activity near Officers Marlins and Jones. Death Eaters - six in number, torching a house."

Little to the Weasley's knowledge, a Reaper assault drone had tracked them since they left the bar, all the way to the Weasley household. Now, the image was on-screen. As the analyst described, six figures in black hoods were busy burning down a home and killing those who fled.

"Hotel Actual, alert the agents." The General barked. The officer in question nodded and adjusted his headset, changing the channel to the agents' earpieces. "Are there any other wizards in the area?"

An analyst spoke up. "General, this entire neighborhood does not even seem to exist, according to our digital maps. I think it a safe assumption that all of the residents here are wizards and witches."

He exhaled, setting his jaw in a firm line. This was not good. They had a duty to protrect the innocent; and that family being burned sure looked innocent to him.

But if the other wizards caught sight of the drone because it attacked and realized that there was an unknown third party in this conflict, they were bound to become interested in their identity. Possibly aggressively interested.

Justice demands the risk.

"Engage the six hostile targets, Captain. Do not let any of them escape. Then retreat." He murmured loud enough only for the Major and Colonel to hear. "Let's pray they don't have done-tracking magic spells."

The pilot carefully tracked the six targets and marked them. "Fire mission, fire mission: six tango, two mike."

"Mission clear."

* * *

Dusk was turning into night, as Elizabeth Esderzany stood on her front porch. She was an accountant for a large wizarding food catering company; an accountant, of all things! Admitted, most of her work involved magical abacuses and self-writing (and some self-reading) reports, but she enjoyed her work nonetheless. As much as anyone can enjoy accounting.

She had been roused from her dinner food coma by some kind of ruckus elsewhere in the neighborhood. She saw, to her surprise, that the Angeworthy house just a few blocks down was on fire! Her porch had a semi-clear view of their lawn, as her house was on higher elevation.

As she strained her eyes, she saw black hooded figures, fire spraying from their hands. Or their wands, more likely. She held back a gasp: Death Eaters! In her neighborhood! She thought she might faint. Such violence! She was certain that the day could not become much more violent or horrifying than this.

Thousands of feet above the Angeworthy household, the small Reaper drone system rocked slightly as two missiles detached themselves from her wings and ignited in a burst of flame, hurtling towards the earth - specifically towards six men in black cloaks. Their launch was relatively silent, compared to the burning of the house and the screams of those inside and out.

Elizabeth was watching the fire in horror when her eye caught streaks of light far, far above the house. She watched, in utter amazement, as these twin streaks of light hurtled towards the earth faster than anything she had ever witnessed. It must be Aurors! Those bright streaks of light - I would recognize them anywhere! So Elizabeth thought, after having seen (only once) a magnificent wizard duel, with flying white and black shapes circling and colliding and dueling.

Instead, the two streaks of light raced towards the ground and impacted. In a flash of light and dirt, the ground seemed to explode; a plume of smoke rose from the ground as the wave of sound and shock rolled over her, washing her in the experience of twin explosions. She fell back on her buttocks, gaping at the two craters in the ground.

In silence, the small Reaper drone soared away, unnoticed.

* * *

**Good news and bad news. You already know the bad news: it's been a while since the last chapter. Good news is: that most certainly won't happen for the following two chapters!**

**Enjoy more explosions. I certainly will.**


	4. Rather Unfortunate Gas Leak in Mableton

Analyst Drenden stared at the computer screen, his eyes blinking. It was 4:30 in the morning and, so far, the brick wall had not moved.

He wanted it to move–no doubt about it. He wanted it to move or explode or something. Anything so that he could finally go to sleep.

Instead, the wall stubbornly remained still and boring. Just like you would expect a wall to.

"You see anything, Foxtrot?" The analyst whispered into his mic. Foxtrot was the codename for a sniper team located in a small clumping of trees not too far from the brick wall they were staking out.

"No sir." A pause. "Are we sure that there are wizards somehow hiding in that wall? Scanners showed–"

"Unfortunately, we all know what the scanners showed us." He sighed. "Nothing." Literally. There was nothing behind that wall. No wizards and no magic. Just some electrical wires and plumbing.

Which is why the officers on the U.S.S. _Ronald Reagan_ were extremely interested in that wall. Because they kept receiving radio transmissions from a direct point _in_ the wall. Like there was a hidden house there or something.

_Officers that are sleeping right now…_ Drenden grumbled mentally.

He clicked a button on a dashboard, switching his mic channel to a different frequency. "Hotel Actual, half hour check–in. Nothing to report." Hotel Actual was actually in a Boeing radar aircraft, circling the city slowly at 40,000 feet and monitoring the different agents in the field; he was the immediate commanding officer for the Task Force's deployed soldiers. He reported to the General directly.

"Very well, Foxtrot Actual. Continue the search."

Drenden sighed. This was proving to be a very boring assignment. Suddenly, he heard chatter from his other channel with Foxtrot. He switched his frequency quickly.

"–flying bodies!"

"What?" He raised an eyebrow. "Repeat that."

"We saw three body bags fly over us, sir, just a moment ago!"

_This has got to be wizards._

"One just smacked into a tree, sir. But it's still going."

_Really strange wizards_.

"They're headed for the house, sir! Er, the space between them."

He blinked, and focused his eyes on the computer screen. Sure enough, after a minute, he saw three body bags fly _through the air_ and _into the brick wall_. They disappeared.

He blinked again. He clicked the comm over to Hotel Actual's frequency. "Uh, Hotel Actual, this is Foxtrot Actual."

"We read you, Foxtrot."

"We just saw three body bags fly through the air and into the brick wall. I mean, uh, through the brick wall, sir. They're gone."

"They disappeared into the brick wall?"

"Yes."

There was a period of silence.

"Very well. Foxtrot Actual, we're sending an assault team to your location. They'll be setting up defensive positions outside the houses; we will contact the British police to silently evacuate the residents."

He nodded. "Yes, sir." This would prove to be interesting.

* * *

A few hours later, on board the U.S.S. _Ronald Reagan_.

The General rubbed his eyes gently with his hand. "So the bodies flew into the wall? Are these the same ones from yesterday?"

The analyst nodded. "Yes sir. We believe so."

"Has there been any activity since then?"

"No sir."

The General walked over to where the Major and Colonel were eating a light breakfast. Beside them, a computer screen showed an aerial image of the outside of the house; an Army Ranger squad lay hidden behind a small natural hill and two sniper teams lay prone farther behind them, with clear sights to the mysterious brick wall. They had set up C4 in front of the wall, camouflaged as a passerby tossing a bit of litter, in case they needed to remotely trigger an explosion.

All they waited for was…well…something to happen. They assumed that there was a wizard, three dead bodies and a tortured, possibly mind-controlled agent hidden inside.

"Are there any civilians nearby?"

The analyst had followed him to the breakfast table. "No sir. There was a reported 'gas leak' which led to the civilians' evacuation."

He grunted. The Colonel piped up. "I expect that there will be a lot of 'gas leaks' in the next few weeks."

He grunted again. This operation had fairly undefined goals for a simple reason: they had _no idea_ what they were dealing with. They were discovering an entire new culture, nation and type of warfare. This would change _everything_.

Best not to screw it up, then.

* * *

As Bobby and Rusty were eating dinner the night before, a neighbor ran up, frantically knocking at the door. Arthur excused himself and ran off. Unfortunately, the children were nowhere to be found; school would begin soon and they were off preparing. They'd be back soon.

With Arthur gone, Molly entertained them by talking about their kids. She spoke fondly of them all: Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron and Ginny.

"The wedding's just about a week away." She finished. Bobby and Rusty had listened attentively; listening proved to be one of the best ways to establish trust. This proved true in this case, as well as any other. "Now. Enough about me. What are you two visiting the area for?" She questioned, leaning her head slightly. "This is, well…it's not the best time to visit." She glanced towards the door, fidgeting.

They could tell she was worried about Arthur. "Ah, we're just–"

They were saved by answering by dual colossal explosions that rocked the ground they stood on. Molly looked like her heart had frozen; Bobby and Rusty shot out of their chairs, hands close to their hidden pistols. Molly didn't notice.

The three of them raced outside. After turning around, they saw plumes of smoke rising from a house a ways on down the block. In addition, Arthur jogged back to the Burrow with a confused look on his face.

"Oh, Arthur! Dear, are you alright?" Molly clasped his hand with both of hers, her eyes searching him over for wounds. He turned out to be entirely fine.

"I'm fine, actually." He said with furrowed brow. "There were Death Eaters terrorizing a family down the way; I was on my way to help defend them when…well…" He motioned with his hands. "They exploded."

"What?"

"They just suddenly blew up. Like someone snuck up and cast a particularly powerful spell. I don't really know." He shrugged. "But they're definitely dead. We found–"

"Ugh, don't tell me." Molly shook her head and waked back to the house, huffing. Arthur smiled after her tenderly and turned to his guests.

"I apologize for not being here for the majority of dinner; my neighbor asked me to check out the attack and help. Luckily, it worked itself out." Arthur smiled at them, but also watched them. He was beginning to suspect them. It is a strange coincidence that a third party blows up Death Eaters the same day that he happens to meet two friendly strangers on one of the very rare nights that he goes out for a drink…

Not to mention that, for wizards, they know nothing magical.

And not to mention that he's never even _met_ an American wizard before. Tourism is not as common among the wizards, it seems. For two to show up _this far_ in the war?

Bobby nodded graciously. "No problem, Arthur. We're just sad we missed your kids." He nodded towards Molly. "She told us all about them. They sure sound like a rowdy bunch!"

"And congratulations on the upcomin' nuptials!" Rusty clapped a hand on Arthur's shoulder congenially. Arthur grinned. "For your kid, o' course." They laughed.

"Well, you both can stay the night here, of course. I want you both to meet the kids." Bobby and Rusty nodded. "In fact, there're a few more than we usually have. Did my wife tell you about them?"

Rusty shook his head. "Nope."

"Well! There's a boy named Harry Potter; surely you've heard of him…"

* * *

The wall moved.

Well, it wasn't exactly the wall; but a hooded figure exited the wall. Behind him walked out two others, all armed with broomsticks. The bugs they planted near the wall picked up their conversation; as they listened, Foxtrot Actual whispered, "Hold fire." He didn't want to lose this valuable intel.

"We must intercept the boy before he flees the house. We will meet with the others near Privet Drive."

"But what about the, uh…"

"The soldier we interrogated?"

"Yes. And what he said."

"The Dark Lord must know about this." The tallest one–whose voice they recognized as the interrogator from a few nights before–exhaled heavily. "Muggles trying to interfere will not please him."

One of the others chuckled. "I think it will, actually. He'll enjoy slaughtering them."

"As he always does." The final one said, with a hint of disgust. "Drawing too much notice. That's how this happened!" He motioned behind him.

"I still don't understand how they died." The middle one mused. They must have been speaking about the three corpses. "Luckily our charm worked; otherwise, we never would've known how they died."

The tallest one shook his head. "It doesn't matter. This house is secure under the Fidelius Charm; no one can find it except us three."

"What about the Dark Lord?"

"Actually," the tallest said, in a somewhat surprised voice, "he doesn't. I probably ought to change that soon."

They motioned to begin getting on their broomsticks. As Foxtrot Actual watched this, he knew that they weren't getting any more intel.

"Detonate."

The sergeant blew the C4 charge, causing a massive explosion beneath the wizards' feet. They were wholly unprepared. Two of them no longer had recognizable bodies, while the tallest lacked half his torso and his legs. In any case, they were all dead.

"It seems the squad wasn't necessary." Foxtrot Actual murmured. "Sergeant: secure the –what? What's happening?"

All of a sudden, the houses began to shake; and, splitting, the two houses suddenly made room for a third. It appeared literally out of nowhere. But, somehow, everything else remained the same–like the house was always there.

In the front lawn lay four corpses: the three wizards that were shot two days ago, along with the corpse of former Lieutenant Greene. It seems that even informant Muggles (albeit forced) are not spared by the wizards.

Shaken, Foxtrot Actual struggled to repeat his order. "Uh…Sergeant! Make sure…go clean this all up."

The sergeant acknowledged his order and called in a Humvee transport. Within the hour, it was like nothing had happened. Except that there was a new house.

* * *

"We'll just have to hope no one notices?"

Major Kernan winced. A _new house appearing on a block_ is bound to raise questions. The General waved his hands. "Gas leaks are mysterious things. Who knows what could happen?"

"Oh, be serious." The Colonel growled. "This isn't important anyway. They'll get over it. What are they going to say? The government added a new house to my block in a day?"

Good point.

"Anyway, we have bigger concerns." The General nodded. The Major turned to his head analyst. "What do you know about Privet Drive?"

"Well, there's nothing exciting or different. Except…one child is enrolled in a school that he's never been to."

The Major quirked an eyebrow. "Eh?"

"Harry Potter. Lives in the Dursley household." He looked over a printout he had. "Records show that he's enrolled in St. Mungo's, but he's never been on any class roster."

"Harry Potter? I've read that name." The Major commented. He flipped out his phone, searching through recent documents that were texted to him. "Hmm…ah, yes. Mentioned by the Weasley assets. He is one of the most renowned wizards–great potential and power and survived unsurvivable curses." The Major looked up. "And he's about to turn 17."

"Colonel, Major: I think it's about time we had an intelligence briefing to go over what we've learned." The General began walking towards the interior of the ship. "We have much to discuss."

* * *

Harry Potter stood and watched other Harry Potters get dressed. Needless to say, it was awkward. Frankly, he couldn't look any of the girls in the eye afterwards; when they were able to literally be in his body…

He turned his mind away from unpleasant thoughts to merely horrifying ones; Lord Voldemort wants to murder him, and it may very well happen tonight. He was tempted to just leave now and evade his notice. In fact, he had an idea earlier–quite a brilliant one, so he thought. Get in the trunk of the car in the garage and get someone unrecognizable to drive it to work. Then he gets out and–voila! He's escaped the trap! They literally would _never_ expect it. It's like cars are invisible to wizards.

Of course, he suggested this idea to _wizards_. Which means that they didn't expect it either. Too complicated! Too risky! And frankly, too unknown.

Harry's been in a car plenty of times (read: every day of his childhood), so he was familiar with it. Hermoine would be down with it, he thought; she probably even had a driver's license. Depending on what she did during summers.

"Don't get too comfortable, Harry!" A voice said to him. His voice, actually. From one of the clones. He cringed.

"Can you all just…_not_ speak while you're me?"

A couple of them laughed but obliged him. _Do I really sound like that when I laugh?_ Harry internally sighed.

"Get ready." One of him said. Harry suppressed his cringe. "We leave in five minutes."

He could not wait for this to be over. _Hopefully not in the permanent sense, though. That'd be bad_.

_Alright, Harry_. He told himself. _Focus. Pull the thoughts in._ He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. His heart was racing. He rolled his shoulders, closing his eyes for a moment.

_Perhaps this will go smoothly._ He thought to himself. _After all, this is supposed to be a surprise_. He nodded confidently. _Yeah, no one knows about this but us. I'm sure_.

* * *

"So who _doesn't_ know that this Potter fellow is being moved tonight?"

The head analyst shrugged. "It seems like all the parties involved know about it. Including us."

The Colonel rolled his eyes. "Clearly."

The General had gathered the heads of different departments into the briefing room, where they meant to review their collective knowledge and establish a plan of attack. So far, they discussed the Ministry organization, spells and magical culture–Arthur was _very_ helpful with that, albeit indirectly and unknowingly–and were now on the topic of Harry's imminent transfer.

"Gentlemen," the General began, "so far, the Ministry of Magic appears to be the side we need to support. They seek order and a form of justice in the magical community and extend rights to non-magical folk. Muggles, as they call us."

He glanced around the room. "As it stands, their leadership seems to be focused around this Harry Potter fellow as a key to winning the war against the Dark Lord. They refuse to speak his name." He shrugged. "Since we don't know it, I suppose we'll refrain as well."

Major Kernan continued the briefing. "We've recovered broomsticks which we assume is their primary mode of transportation besides teleportation." He clicked a button and an image came on-screen. "This is Privet Drive. Our eavesdropping revealed that the Dark Lord's forces plan to stage an aerial assault against Mr. Potter as he evacuates. We have sources in connection with the Weasley household, which is coincidentally where Mr. Potter often stays with his best friends. Our operatives there will continue to maintain contact and hopefully develop friendships with the Weasleys and Mr. Potter."

The General resumed speaking. "We have a UAV deployed over the target area to mark targets of interest as they leave the home. I want a fighter squadron scrambled immediately and sent to that location. We can assume the wizards have high evasiveness and speed; we will therefore use High Explosive Fragmentary Munitions as well as Fuel Explosive Bombs against the targets that we mark as hostile. The latter is only to be used if there are no friendlies in the blast radius."

"General: wouldn't that make everyone aware of third party involvement? Especially on such an important mission?" The Colonel interjected.

"Indeed, Colonel." General Winters nodded. "My goal is to establish an alliance with a group. I am still evaluating the Ministry, as I feel that their leadership is distinct and different from Mr. Potter's group; from what we have heard, he has been involved in many missions against the Dark Lord with a small group. Perhaps they are a fourth party. Or a subgroup of the Ministry." He shrugged. "In any case, I believe them to be potential allies. We will aid them as we can and continue surveillance with our plants."

He looked around the room. Heads were nodding in agreement; he saw no more questions raised.

"Very well. Scramble the fighters. Dismissed."

* * *

Claxons blared. Major Wilks sat in the cockpit of his F-22 Raptor as it taxied down the runway of the British airbase.

"Raptor Leader, you are cleared for takeoff."

The Major clicked his radio in response and punched the throttle. The engine whined and roared as the Raptor sped down the runway, lifting slightly off the ground. With a slight tug on the stick, the jet slid up, climbing thousands of feet. He smiled; few experiences were as glorious and incredible as flying the Raptor. Perhaps the best aircraft in the Air Force.

He leveled out and tapped his comm. "Raptor Squadron, check-in."

"One."

"Two."

And so on, until the final member checked in. Raptor Squadron was ready to fly.

The target was not very far away; only a few minutes. Regardless, they all felt a need to rush. Hotel Actual designated targets on their HUD.

"Raptor Squadron, we've identified eight hostiles. There are a lot of friendlies and unknowns in the same area flying close by; we will give you clearance when a target is far enough away to fire a HEF missile."

"Raptor copies, Hotel Actual." Major Wilks responded. This would be interesting.

* * *

Harry flew in mild terror.

Wizards flew about him–sparks of light flashed and muted yells could be heard all around him. Certain Harrys split off above him; some curled in strange patterns, hoping to shake an enemy too close to their tail; but Harry flew fairly predictably. Which was hopefully unpredictable. For him, anyway. Crazy child.

He pointed his wand, about to shout out his traditional spell of 'Expelliarmus' when he caught a glimpse of something far off. One of the Death Eaters was looping above one of the Harrys, attempting to out-maneuver him, when a strange-looking point of light (though it was dim enough to remain hard to see in the dark night) few impossibly quickly towards him. Harry had only time to tilt his head in curiosity before the point was no longer far away, but right on top of the Death Eater.

Then there was a bright flash, followed by a wave of air so dense that he could _feel_ it washed over him, along with the mighty _BOOM_ that almost threw him off his broom. The Death Eater was nowhere to be seen.

"What in bloody–" Someone yelled near him. His thought was left unfinished by another _BOOM_ and flash of light–this one significantly to the left. Harry didn't feel a shockwave, as he did from the previous explosion.

These flashes of light certainly changed the tempo of the battle. None of the Death Eaters wanted to venture far off; the Harrys decided to attempt to lose them by simply heading off into the sky, tempting Death Eaters to follow them. If any did, but didn't stick close enough to the Harry they were chasing, there would be a flash of light and they would explode.

Harry suddenly felt a lot better about his chances.

* * *

Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, Master of the Death Eaters and Holder of the Horcruxes, found himself grounded.

He was about to leap up into the battle, surprising the fools and their multiple _Harry Potters_ (he snarled the name, even as he thought it), until he saw one of his Death Eaters explode. Then another. He sent the Death Eater beside him up; only after a minute of flying, he exploded. Whatever sorcery this was, Lord Voldemort did not approve. He transfigured a nearby rock into a kitten and pointed his wand angrily.

"Avada kedavra!" In a flash of green light, the poor kitten died. He smiled. Because he's evil like that.

* * *

The next morning, the news anchor began to recite the local news. "…the Air Force put on a fireworks display over Privet Drive last evening, as a celebration of the anniversary of the Air Force's victory during World War II." She neglected to mention which victory. Mainly because the Air Force made that up. "In other news, there was a rather unfortunate gas leak in Mableton…"


End file.
